


Pillow Talk

by jaegermighty, wingedwords (gunpowderandlove)



Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Cover Art, M/M, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 02:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegermighty/pseuds/jaegermighty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunpowderandlove/pseuds/wingedwords
Summary: Travis' eyes widen. From Wes' vantage point, looming over his upside-down head, the expression is almost cartoonish. "You don't actually think we stillneedtherapy?"





	Pillow Talk

  
_Cover art by wingedwords._

**Download or Stream** : [MP3](https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/wingedwords/%5BCommon+Law%5D+Pillow+Talk.mp3) (7.58 MB)

**Length** : 00:15:25

**Stream** :

One of the things that always surprises people about Travis is that he's not a big fan of change - surprises other people, that is, as in people other than Wes, who is intimately familiar with how much effort Travis puts into being effortless. If they were to pay a little more attention though, they'd see it - same trailer for six years, same job for eight. Same bike - four. Same fake leather jacket - twelve.

Same habits, same comebacks, same hairstyle, too. And he has the balls to call Wes predictable. _Wes_ , who hasn't had a lease in four years, who threw his law degree in the proverbial toilet after a couple really bad days at work. Sure. Whatever.

"I just don't really see why we gotta switch, I mean especially after everything we did to stay together," Travis complains. "Two years of therapy, man. Two _years_. Has the captain seen our 'Good Work' certificate?"

Wes knows for a fact that Sutton has seen the certificate, because he teared up when Wes showed it to him. But he threatened to put Wes on traffic detail if he told Travis about it, so he's not gonna mention it. "There is no sane or competent captain in the world that would let two sexually involved officers partner together, Travis."

Travis wrinkles his nose. "I really wish you wouldn't put it like that. 'Sexually involved.' Sounds like a health form."

"Romantically entangled?"

"That's even worse." Travis shakes his head, frustrated. "And we still have to keep going! That's some bullshit."

"The department paid for the entire year already. We might as well."

"Oh, whatever, you hate it more than I do. Don't be all…" Travis sort of wiggles his hand in the air, a gesture that is apparently supposed to imply that Wes is doing something annoying. "You know."

"I really don't," Wes replies. Truthfully, he does hate therapy, but: "it makes fiscal sense."

" _Fiscal sense?_ " Travis pronounces the phrase not unlike the way he said 'serial murder' at the morning meeting yesterday.

"Yes," Wes says stubbornly. "Have you seen this year's budget statements?"

"No, Wesley, I haven't seen this year's budget statements."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"You _know_ what. You asked me a question and I'm just responding, don't be dismissive."

"I'm not being dismissive, I'm making fun of you," Travis explains.

"And I really wish you wouldn't call me Wesley."

"I really wish you wouldn't iron my jeans when you do the laundry, but we can't win every battle, can we?"

Wes crosses his arms stubbornly. "If you insist on wearing jeans to work, then - "

"You know the kind of man who irons jeans? A kind of man with a kind of name like 'Wesley.' So you wanna change one thing, you gotta change both." Travis grins at him. The 'I know you wanna hit me right now' grin. "See? We're communicating. We don't need more therapy."

Wes bites the inside of his cheek, reminds himself that Travis is just looking for a reaction, and forcibly uncrosses his arms. He _loves_ this man, he reminds himself. He is _in love_ with _this person_. This specific individual, lying upside down on Wes' bed in mismatched socks and a pair of Tweety Bird boxers. The reality of this fact is continuously surreal and occasionally, a little depressing.

"I would like to continue attending," Wes says, forcibly, while avoiding eye contact. He hears Travis muffle a snort. "I would also like you to shut up about your stupid new partner already. Please."

"He's a fucking _idiot,_ " Travis explodes, flinging his arms out so dramatically that several of Wes' decorative pillows tumble sadly to the floor. "His name is _Adrian_. Who's named Adrian? That's even stupider than 'Wesley.'"

Wes picks up his pillows without comment. "You've had problems with every single partner you've ever had in the beginning, Travis - you didn't even get along with Paekman at first. You'll get used to this one eventually."

"Okay, I hear you on that," Travis says, "but consider this: I don't wanna."

"Well, you gotta," Wes says definitively. "And if you keep bitching I'm gonna make _you_ do the laundry."

Travis visibly gulps. "Okay, okay."

"Thank you."

" _You_ didn't have to get a new partner, though."

Wes clears his throat. "My skills are better utilized in a group environment."

"Everybody's scared of you, you mean," Travis says bluntly.

Wes throws a decorative pillow at him.

"Hey! I'm just communicating, jeez."

"I don't feel very supported," Wes says. "Emotionally, I mean."

"I totally support you," Travis replies indignantly. "I support the _shit_ out of you, man."

Wes snorts.

"You know what I think," Travis continues, "I think you wanna keep going because you wanna win."

"Win? Win what?"

"Win therapy," Travis says, like that's obvious. "You get all competitive about it, it's totally weird. Like when Pete and Dakota had that breakthrough about Dakota's mom being the root of their intimacy issues? You just _had_ to go in the next week and have a fuckin' breakdown about my foster mom's barbeque parties."

"I did not have a _breakdown_ , shut up," Wes says, maturely.

"You totally had a breakdown, and you totally did it to show them up," Travis says. "Remember the group dinner at The Cheesecake Factory? The thing with Mr. Dumont and the bill?"

Wes refuses to acknowledge this line of ridiculous questioning. "Mr. Dumont and I resolved the issue privately, and I'm not going to discuss it with you out of respect for the terms of our agreement."

Travis laughs out loud, stomping one of his feet against the headboard. "I never woulda guessed it with a guy like him - talkin' like that? He was ready to fuck you up."

"He was not gonna fight me, don't be ridiculous."

"He was totally gonna fight you, and you probably would've let him win so you could sue him or something, you freak," Travis says.

"Again, I'm going to mention the emotional support issue," Wes says. "I don't actually expect results, but I feel like I should keep bringing it up in hopes that you'll, I don't know, find God or something."

"I would've testified on your behalf," Travis protests, sounding wounded.

Wes sighs. "Look," he says, "okay. So. Maybe I'm a little competitive. Maybe. But this isn't - I mean, that is to say, it's not about...that. Entirely."

Travis' eyes widen. From Wes' vantage point, looming over his upside-down head, the expression is almost cartoonish. "You don't actually think we still _need_ therapy?"

"I certainly don't think it's going to _hurt_."

"Aw, come on Wes - "

"We've been sleeping together for three months and you haven't spent a single night at this apartment," Wes says, as brutal as he can possibly be.

"You've never slept over at my trailer either," Travis shoots back defensively.

"Your trailer is disgusting."

"It is not! Besides, this place is too far from work."

"Too far from - ! Travis, I _live here_ , I drive to work every single day and I _still_ manage to get in before you do, you _idiot_ \- "

"No name calling!" Travis says. "Remember? It lowers the discourse."

"Jesus Christ." Wes pinches the bridge of his nose. "Do you argue with me just because it's fun? Does it turn you on or something?"

"That's pretty fucking rich coming from the guy who picked a fight over condom brands last night."

"You did that just to piss me off!"

"Best sex we ever had," Travis says dreamily.

"Jesus Christ," Wes says again, and sits down next to his pile of pillows. There's always a point in the argument where he has to retreat to the bench, for fear of losing what little perspective he has left, when it comes to Travis.

"You realize what going back means, you know," Travis says slowly, rolling lazily over on one shoulder. The position makes him look like a demented Playgirl model. Wes resents the size of his thigh muscles. "We haven't seen any of them since before Christmas; they don't know about - " Travis gestures again, this time to refer to their _romantic entanglement_ , apparently. "They're never gonna let us live it down."

"I'm ready to deal with that for the sake of our relationship," Wes lies.

Travis snorts again, loudly.

"It won't be that bad."

"Really, Wes?" Travis says incredulously. " _Really?_ ''

"Okay fine, it could be _worse_."

"Worse."

"Telling Jonelle was worse."

Travis silently shrugs, conceding the point. "You don't really think we need it, do you?"

There's enough of a genuine question in there to give Wes pause. Up to now the new turn in their relationship has been largely instinctive - and undiscussed. The way they've always worked, the way it always went between them - once they got to a certain point, it had seemed inevitable. Wes doesn't exactly remember when his thinking about it all had changed - or if it was ever any different than it is now. Travis was always very present, in whatever capacity he operated within Wes' life, and the shift happened so organically that neither of them thought to stop it, or even look too closely. Like a frog in boiling water. Or - more likely - grease. Hot, burnt grease, that leaves stains on your cooking apron that you will never, ever get out no matter how many of Travis' foster mom's home remedies that you try.

"I meant what I said before," Wes finally settles on, "I don't think it's going to hurt."

"So you do think we need it."

"I said what I meant; did you mishear me?"

"Don't talk to me like that," Travis says, scowling. "You sound like you're being questioned by a Senate subcommittee."

"If you have a problem with the way I talk to you, then maybe we should be talking about that instead of whatever it is your problem is right now - "

"You know," Travis interrupts loudly, "I wonder sometimes about how all this went down with Alex, since she was a lawyer too, and all. Was it just like that, back and forth, back and forth? 'Don't misrepresent what I know I said to you by saying that you said it,' blah blah - "

"Hey," Wes says, a hot lick of anger curling around his voice. "Low blow. Don't bring up Alex, okay."

"Fine. Sorry." Travis rolls over to stare at the ceiling, sulking a little.

There are so many questions he wants to ask: is Travis jealous? Does he mean the jokes he makes? The ones about Wes' personality, especially - does he mean those? Why is he even here, if he does? What the hell is he thinking when he makes that face - but Wes doesn't know how to ask them. That's always been their problem - not asking things. Ryan helped with the last big thing, and Wes doesn't see any reason why they should back away now.

"Man," Travis says, breaking the somewhat tense silence, "gimme my pillows back."

"You were mistreating them."

"I know," Travis says somberly, sighing up at the ceiling. Wes cringes, and throws a couple more of the pillows at him. "I don't mean to."

Wes debates with himself for a long minute, staring at the curve in Travis' knee, the scar that curves down into his calf. A robbery suspect cut him with the edge of a beer bottle, his first year on the job. Travis always says he had to get forty stitches which means it was probably more like eight or nine.

"Okay," Wes says, and drags himself over to sit by the knee in question. Travis peers at him curiously. "Let's play it by ear."

"Play it by _ear_?"

"That's what I said," Wes says, mocking himself deliberately to get a smile.

It works. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that, in all the time I've known you."

"First time for everything," Wes says, running his palm up the scar, up, up, to the strong thigh, the corded muscle that flexes beneath his hand. Travis' smile widens.

"I mean, if it makes fiscal sense," Travis says.

“I’m feeling very, uh,” Wes says, “ _fiscal_ right about now.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Travis replies, laughing.

Wes smiles back at him, feeling overwhelmed, despite himself. Everything he feels about Travis is despite himself, it seems like.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you know. I just think – we shouldn’t take it lightly – “

“I know what you meant,” says Travis, flexing his thigh pointedly. “We don’t gotta talk about it to death. It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Wes says, swallowing.

“What we do gotta talk about though,” Travis says, nudging Wes with his foot, “is that running bet they think we don’t know about – “

Wes groans out loud.

“You think we could last until May? Because the Dumonts bet on January or February, and out of everybody, I think Pete and Dakota are the only ones who really _deserve_ to win – “

“What, lie?” Wes says. “For four months? To our therapist?”

Travis shrugs.

“Doesn’t that defeat the entire point?”

“I mean,” Travis says, “you did say we could ‘play it by ear.’”

Wes gives him a skeptical look. “This is gonna end badly.”

Travis laughs again, happy and unrestrained. “What else is new?”


End file.
